Loyal Dogs
by xCrimsonxBlackxBloodx
Summary: With all the conflict and tension between Amestris and Aerugo, it was inevitable that a war would break loose; Mustang just always thought that he would be able to keep his young prodigy away from such a nightmarish ordeal.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish they do… But they don't. Too bad for me.**

XXX

**Loyal Dogs**

Prologue – Not Even a Month

XXX

It had been a week.

It had been seven days since he and his brother had finalized their research, based on the same principles as transmuting chimaeras. It had been seven days since the sickly frail body of Alphonse Elric – pale but still breathing – had been carried into one of Central's best hospitals by his frantic, ashen-faced older sibling. Seven days since the two brothers had successfully bended – but not broken – the very laws of alchemy, laws that they obeyed and respected above any other.

And, to Alphonse, it was one hundred and sixty-eight hours longer than his brother should have had to deal with that heavy, painful automail still grafted to his body. It had been his decision, he reminded himself again and again; Edward had given him the choice as to whether or not he would be the first to undergo the theoretically sound transmutation. No matter how many times he told himself that it had been to protect his brother and to make sure that their hypothesis had indeed been sound, he knew that he was lying to himself. He had wanted his body back – which, though it did not feel anything, did not feel pain, either – more than he had wanted his older sibling to be free of the incessant aches and pains and discomforts of having automail.

He dare not mention this to his brother, though, who simply shrugged off a concerned remark one rainy morning of early spring, and joked about second worried comment on another balmy afternoon. His brother never cared for or about himself; Alphonse knew this, just as he knew that Edward would be content with those damned fake limbs as long as his little brother had his body back.

The hospital walls were a plain, matte white, as were the sheets that covered his bed and the equipment that surrounded him. He had been in hospitals plenty of times before – being the younger brother of a hot-tempered and tactless State Alchemist, it was something that could not be avoided – but never before had he learned to hate them as he did now. To see the happy smiles on the faces of the nurses and doctors who cared for him, or the worn-out face of his sibling as Edward entered his room, trying to hide from him the thoughts that were obviously worrying and troubling him…

He wanted nothing more to be able to do something, _anything_, to see his brother truly smile again, as he had when they were children. Just as Edward had wanted to see his brother's true smile, Alphonse had simply wanted the same thing.

It was a childish dream, and the young alchemist knew this. But, after all they had been through, they were still just children.

XXX

It had been one week, three days.

It had been ten days since the Elric brothers had asked Colonel Roy Mustang for help to hide their illegal transmutation from the military, and the elder alchemist had obliged. Three hours to draw out the complex array, six to check and double-check and triple-check each symbol and line and circle that they had drawn, moments to decide which brother would – they hoped – be the first to recover their original body, and even less time to activate the culmination of years study and work and pain.

When the blinding light of the transmutation had finally cleared from his eyes, Edward had been sure that he would collapse, though from relief or exhaustion, he was not quite sure. That time of sheer solace, though, was short lived; his brother was so weak, so pale and frail, so thin, so… Still. Alphonse had been returned to his human body, but he was unconscious and barely breathing.

When questioned about the event by his superior officer, Edward could honestly say that he did not recall much about any amount of time after that. He remembered groping at Alphonse's neck, searching for a pulse, resting an ear against his chest to search for breath. He recollected having thrown his own heavy red coat over his brother's body, collecting the too-light form into his own arms. He had not been thinking clearly, he knew this…

He could clearly remember thinking, though, that his brother needed help. He wasn't going to lose him, when he had just gotten him back! No… Never… He could not help but think of that evening… So many resemblances.

But, no, this time, his brother would be alright. There would be no repercussions.

This he learned after hours of anxious waiting, after worn-down tiles and a string of curses directed towards the doctors and nurses who refused to give him an answer as to his own brother's health – and even then, it was only after Colonel Mustang had stepped in on his behalf and had bullied a young nurse into getting the answer. It was not until later that he found out exactly why his dark haired superior officer had sought him out to begin with.

He had growled at the man at the time, filled with pent up, nervous energy and laced with adrenaline. When the elder alchemist had told him that he needed to speak with him in private, back at the military Headquarters, he had flat-out refused. There was no way that he would leave this hospital until Alphonse awoke again, until he could look into those bright eyes, a shade darker than his own golden ones.

He had stood by this principle for the next two days, refusing to even leave his brother's room, sleeping on one of those thrice-damned wooden chairs by his brother's bedside, not even leaving to eat. When his brother had finally opened his eyes again, a burnt gold to match his own and filled with the same life and innocence that he had dreamt about for five years, Edward had dropped his head into his hands – one of flesh and the other of cold steel – and had wept for the first time in more years than he cared to recall. His startled brother had comforted him without a moment of hesitation, then sent him away to sleep, eat, shower and phone the Rockbell's to tell them the good news.

An argument had ensued, which Edward had lost soundly.

XXX

It had been two weeks.

It had been fourteen days since Colonel Roy Mustang, the famous – and infamous – Flame Alchemist and Ishval veteran, had found a folder on his desk one sunny morning. He recalled being about to toss it carelessly on top of the pile of folders and reports he had yet to read and sign, but noticed the Fuhrer's personal stamp sealing it shut just as his bare fingers brushed the document. Curiosity overcame him, he had had to admit, and it was this that brought him to open the thing so readily.

Oh, how he wished he could have just avoided the whole incident.

The seasoned soldier and war veteran had paled as he read through the folder, which had been filled with personnel files, and mentions of allowances and provisions as well as orders for himself and for his team. One sheet, stating that the Fullmetal Alchemist's rank of Major would be officially instated, widened his eyes. This could not be true…

_State Alchemist, "Flame Alchemist" Colonel Roy Mustang,_

_State Alchemist, "Fullmetal Alchemist" Major Edward Elric_

_First Lieutenant, Riza Hawkeye_

_Second Lieutenant, Heymans Breda_

_Second Lieutenant, Jean Havoc_

_Warrant Officer, Vato Falman_

_Sergeant Master, Kain Fury_

_The following officers of this department will answer the call for active, wartime duty in face of recent events concerning the nation of Aerugo…_

XXX

So, children? Good prologue?

Meh… I don't care. I just find that writing "Major Edward Elric" is _very_ satisfying. Seriously, you have no idea how much it amuses me… Even though my computer doesn't register "Elric" as a proper noun.

Stupid computer.

Con Te Partiro!

xCxBxBx


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish they do… But they don't. It really kinda sucks.**

XXX

**Loyal Dogs**

Chapter One – Not Quite

XXX

_Major Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist (Battle Grade),_

_As an officer of the Amestrian military, you have been __hearby ordered by his Excellency the F__ührer King Bradley to answer the call for active, wartime duty against the country of Aerugo._

_You will present yourself before Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, no later than twelve hundred hours on the twenty fourth of March, where you will remain stationed under his command until further notice from the State._

_You will be required to remain in Central following this time, and will be deployed the following day, the twenty fifth of March at ten hundred hours. _

_Truly,_

_F.F.__ Storch_

_Secretary to his Excellency the F__ü__hrer_

XXX

The train clacked loudly, droning on continuously as the hours passed by, each as dull and unexciting as the last. Carriages swayed back and forth in a gentle rocking motion, lulling many a person to sleep or, at the very least, into a stupor that left them completely oblivious to the world around them. Few were immune to the effects. Seeing the sleepy, monotonous atmosphere of the train's compartments, one would not think much of the many people within it.

Or rather, they would not think much of it if the train itself had not been a private vehicle, one of many belonging to the Amestrian military, and that it's scores of passengers were all clad in the proud blue uniforms donned by the country's fighting men and women. As it was, children and adult alike stopped to watch the vehicle pass by, staring with wide eyes when they saw the symbol that decorated the front of the engine – the military's own insignia of a pale leocampus rampant superimposed upon a dusty green field. While the youngest of its observers could only question why they were seeing such an occurrence, the elders could not help but recall exactly why they were seeing this take place.

All over the newspapers and heralded from the radios, fuelled and fed by rumours and banners covered with propaganda; it was not something that people could avoid knowing. Once again, the nation of Amestris was going to war. The only thing unique about this war, though, was that was not their country which had instigated it.

And so, the train raced by, a silver snake slithering its way across the land, heading south, flying past trees and fields, hills and streams, cities and villages filled with the citizens – young and old – that these hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers had been deployed to protect.

The sense of relaxation and ease that enveloped the monotony of the train, though, was as false as the comfort it provided, and that was something that Colonel Mustang did not like. Neither, it seemed, did the majority of his direct subordinates.

He watched as the blond, blue eye Jean Havoc began and finished a whole package of cigarettes, completely oblivious as to how many he has actually gone through, as deep in his thoughts was he was. Falman, the oldest among them with his greying hair and crow's feet around his eyes, seemed even older than he should have, and he had not turned the page of the book in his hands for the last ten minutes. Red haired Breda and the much younger, bespectacled Fuery were still battling over a chess board – though Breda had won every round played – but it was not difficult to realize that they were not truly concentrating on the game that rested between them. Riza Hawkeye, with her sternly pinned blonde hair and severe brown eyes, was unnecessarily polishing her gun; anything to keep her hands busy. And Edward…

As troubled as he was with the whole situation, it was the usually loud Major who worried him the most.

Briefly, he wondered if it was simply the shock of actually seeing Edward Elric don a proper military uniform – complete with a Major's stripes decorating the shoulders – that had him so disconcerted. But no; he could not deny the vacant gaze in those normally strong and piercing golden eyes as they absently gazed over the fields that raced by – at least, no more than he could ignore the defeated slouch that the young man had adopted during the long hours since they had boarded. That long braid, so familiar that it had become one of the youth's trademarks, had surrendered to a similarly functional ponytail, pulled high and out of the way by his mismatched hands of scarred flesh and the finest grade of auto-mail steel.

At seventeen, many had argued that the Fullmetal Alchemist was too young to partake in the bloody Hell that was war – the Colonel being among them. As it stood, though, the military saw him as a battle grade State Alchemist, a young, skilled, strong and determined "Dog of the Military" before it saw him as a young man who was the only family left to his even younger brother; an invaluable "Human Weapon" before a scared, worried, apprehensive child.

Even as he watched, Edward fidgeted anxiously. He picked absently at the heavy wool sleeve that covered his metal prosthetic right arm, or else tapped a finger against his artificial left leg, shifted in his seat restlessly until Mustang wanted to snap at him to sit still and act like an adult. But he held his tongue; Edward was not an adult yet, no matter how often the blond insisted otherwise, and did he not already know how frightening it was to head off to battle for the first time?

And so, as the train rolled and clattered over miles of open territory, he watched the young blond, wondering and contemplating, wishing that none of this was happening.

XXX

Travelling was not something that Edward Elric was unfamiliar with; north and south, east and even slightly to the west, he had crisscrossed the country of Amestris many times over by train, by carriage, by foot. As often as he had sat on the hard, plain benches that served as seating in trains in general, he could not recall ever feeling the like he did that this point in time. Everything he had ever heard about the Ishvallan Massacre seemed to surface in his mind during the hours he spent staring out that window into empty space; everything he had ever read about the Drachman Wars some fifty years ago, or the Cretan border conflicts that took place until this day, would remind him of exactly what he was being unwillingly lead towards.

Lieutenant Hawkeye, seated across from him and next to Mustang, would occasionally speak to him; meaningless, empty words meant to distract him. His replies were monosyllabic, or else he ignored her completely, as immersed in his misery as he was. He barely noticed when the sun finished its parabola around the sky, lengthening the shadows of the passing scenery as they were plunged into twilight.

It was only then that the Flame Alchemist spoke to him, his tone harsh and frustrated, though Edward could not fathom as to why this was so. "You became a State Alchemist with the knowledge that you could get sent off to war at a moment's notice, _Fullmetal_; you have no reason to brood and sulk like a spoiled child –"

Lieutenant Hawkeye had interrupted him with a stern "sir!" at that point, her eyes hard and sharp. The entire carriage was silent, the officers within staring at their commander in surprise.

With a sigh, the Colonel had leaned back against his bench. His voice was the cold mark that they were all familiar with. "Look out the window and tell me what you see, Fullmetal."

"What does that have to do with you chewing me out?" Edward mumbled mutinously, and could not help but cross his arms over his chest as he did so, looking away from the man and leaning even further back into his seat. His golden eyes were a sharp glare, mastered by years of practice and used habitually against the man that he was once again at odds with.

"Just do it."

Reluctantly, Edward obeyed.

They were making their way south and west, through the hilly border of a small town. Farmers tended to their crops and children played in the dirt roads, cows bellowed softly in the fields while faithful dogs watched over herds of sheep. The entire scene reminded him so much of his hometown that it hurt – not that he would ever admit it to Mustang.

Suddenly, he felt his heart still a beat as his mind chose the worst possible time to conjure told memories; panicked parents, terrified children, screaming animals, his mother's own impossibly pale face as she gathered her two sons in her arms and fled for safety, away from the oncoming invaders. To finally immerge, some three days later, only to find the destruction and horror after behind after the Ishvallan's attack…

Crops completely demolished, herds of animals slaughtered, hundreds dead… The entire town to the east of the train station reduced to nothing more than a skeleton of burnt out shelters, black and streaked with ash.

Slowly, he returned his gaze to Mustang's face, glare still in place. He would never let the Bastard know what he was thinking. "I see the outskirts of a town. So what?"

Golden eyes simply met those of black onyx for a moment, but then the Flame Alchemist was speaking again, in a low voice that barely rose above the noise of metal wheels on metal tracks, but Edward could somehow still hear clearly. From the way he spoke, it was obvious that the older man saw past Edward's false bravado, which did nothing to make the youth any less irritated with him. "Next time you find yourself wondering what you're doing here, don't forget that it's these people that you're protecting. Do you really want to see this town destroyed, too?"

That last question sparked a new wave of annoyance in his heart, hearing Mustang speak to him as though he truly knew what he was talking about. He had not been there; he had not seen the horror that had swept through small, isolated Rezembool; he had not witnessed the hardship that they had suffered, and would still be suffering for years to come.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he had snapped harshly, turning his face away so that he would not have to look at that infuriating, smug face any long. Though he longed to say more, those words had given him for too much to think about.

As it was, he remained silent as the sun disappeared behind the hilly horizon and the electric lamps in the carriage were lit. No one said any further words to him, nor to anyone else; Fuery and Breda had long since abadonned their game of chess; Hawkeye had finished cleaning her weapons some time ago. This, however, was fine with Edward, who was once again lost in thought. As much as he hated to admit it, Mustang had given him much to think about.

He had known about the possibilities of being sent off to battle, but had nonetheless decided that his and his brother's plight was worth the risk, in spite of the growing tension between the two now-warring countries, and now… As much as he hated to acknowledge it, would he have truly been content to sit in Rezembool while countless men and women were sent to war? To simply sit and wait for news from the front, as people around him – people he knew and worked with – were killed or wounded or driven insane? And would he have been able to do nothing more than smile and tell other's that they would all be alright, all the while knowing that he was doing nothing to make it so, to keep them safe… To keep his brother safe?

No. Perhaps Mustang was right, he told himself begrudgingly, as the train finally came to a stop and, following the scores to other blue clad officers, he was able to disembark. Mayhap that it was best for him to be here rather than miserable back home, he insisted as he grabbed his suitcase – for the trunk issued to him by the State was packed away in the cargo hold and would not be accessible until after they were let off to be sent to the front lines.

Yawning and stretching, he made his way to one of the many wayhouses that served as an overnight shelter as he travelled south, along with the multitude of others he travelled with. Drowsy and tired from an endless, monotonous day of travelling, he made a b-line straight through the crowded foyer and up a set for grand wooden steps, polished and carved beautifully. Stripping off his uniform and down to his boxers in the solitude of a room reserved for someone of his rank (at least being a State Alchemist had some advantages), he came to the conclusion that, though he should be better off going to face this metaphorical dragon rather than running away from it, he still could not be happy about the events that he knew he would soon have to witness – that is, if he did not have to perform them himself.

Needless to say, as exhausted as he was and as comfortable as the bed was, the military's youngest soldier slept very poorly that night.

XXX

And, so we have chapter one. Yes, it's a somewhat slow beginning, but this is all pretty much from the top of my head… There are some other reasons, too – no, not (just) fillers! – but you don't need to know them.

xCxBxBX


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish they do… But they don't. It really is rather depressing.**

XXX

**Loyal Dogs**

Chapter Two – _Sinistre _

XXX

…_While__ the abilities of chimaeras vary greatly in accordance with the animal they are fused with, the ordinary body of the chimaera is proven to "have a direct relation to the percentage of the sizes of the two original creatures which had birthed one" [Borch, _De ortu et progressu Chemiae_, 1668]. As a result, large and small animals fused together always exhibit more characteristics of the larger specimen. This is not a determined fact, for there have been few exceptions to this, most apparently when one specimen is of much higher intelligence than the other it has been fused with…_

---Excerpt from "Chapter two: General Anatomy" from the tome "A Study of Chimaerism and General Characteristics Thereof", by Johan August Strindburg, 1912.

_...Though never attempted for ethical reasons, the concept of human animal chimaeras has been a source of much speculation for many decades. A delicate and perilous transmutation, even in theory, any animal fused with a human being would, by necessity, be one of remarkably low reasoning and cognitive skill; this is the only guaranteed method for the human involved to retain their own mental processes. _

_However, according to the writings of Guiseppe Balsamo, "one may remain in control of their emotions and desires no matter how great the sway of another mind may be, if their own determination and will is great enough." Alissandro Cagliostro, an alchemist and physicist of the last century, wrote in his notes that he could find no evidence that would refute this statement, and furthered them with his own research. His conclusion: "The human mind is an ill understood tool far greater than any human of this age can conceive. It is highly possible that a person of a strong enough will would, hypothetically speaking, be able to assert dominance over any beasts he has fused with, for only man understands the true mannerisms of society."_

---Excerpt from "Chapter Thirteen: Hypotheses of Human Chimaeras" from the tome "A Study of Chimaerism and General Characteristics Thereof", by Johan August Strindburg, 1912.

_ …While the notion of human chimaeras is a theoretical one, several sources agree that there is no reason why a human chimaera would not have the ability to use__ alchemy, given that the transmutation that caused them to become a chimaera was a proper success. Because the ability comes from the brain's own perceptive abilities, any human chimaera with the same cognitive skills as a proper human being should, theoretically, be able to perform the art._

---Excerpt from "Chapter Fourteen: Human Chimaeras and Alchemy" from the tome "A Study of Chimaerism and General Characteristics Thereof", by Johan August Strindburg, 1912.

XXX

The mid afternoon sun beat down on Edward's head as he stepped out of a whitewash building, warming him unnecessarily and instantly, and reminding him once again just how remarkably hot it could be in southern Amestris. Cursing the fact that protocol demanded he always wear the heavy wool uniform in instances such as war, he wiped at the sweat collecting in his forehead with the back of his sleeve, all the while wondering exactly how long Mustang was going to remain in that meeting. The Flame alchemist had been gathered within the war's designated western headquarters, conversing with more than a dozen other commanders since midmorning, and Edward was beyond impatient. He had long since known that sitting still when one was anxious about something was even worse than acting upon those apprehensive thoughts.

With a sigh, he glanced back at the building, wanting to know exactly how much longer they were going to wait here until all the plans had been finalized that orders had been given. Surely, three days were enough?

It had been enough for entire battalions to make their way south, after all.

Ever since he had arrived to this place, a thriving town with an equally large military presence, almost five hundred kilometres due west to Dublith, he had watched with a feeling of morbid fascination was hundreds upon thousands of soldiers had poured from trains and cars, moving to this spot in anticipation of being sent out to the front lines. Freights filled tanks and heavy artillery were unloaded daily here, as were several convoys of trucks. The storage houses that the military outpost had for its supplies were filled to capacity, and temporary tents were set up to shelter all the equipment, but still, more boxes and crates kept coming from all corners of Amestris, fuel to feed the raging fire that had ignited between the two countries.

As much as he hated to admit it, for it seemed childish and strangely sinister to do so, he was _bored_; he could not help but hope for some action of any kind to take him mind of the heavy monotony that seemed to have enveloped the place. One way or another, he hoped that the orders would be given out soon, so that everyone could stop sitting around and actually do something.

With nothing better to do, Edward set a meandering pace, thinking that he could perhaps make another trip to the library – nothing else seemed to be happening around here, in any case. He left a brief note with one of the many nameless foot soldiers working as security at the Headquarter's parameter, in the unlikely event that someone would be searching for the Fullmetal Alchemist, then wound his way through the bustling city streets, retracing the only path through the town that he knew by heart.

Colsterworth's sole library was not the same as the monolithic buildings that could be found in Central, nor was it nearly as grand. It was only a single story, but still a respectable size; large enough to be of great use to the people it catered to. With gently sloped, shingled roofs and rusty brick walls, it reminded Edward strongly of some of the houses that could still be found in his hometown.

With a friendly greeting to the sole librarian on staff, he wound his way through the narrow aisles, surrounded by heavy oak bookshelves and the quiet solitude that only a library could offer. A random tome found his eye; a thick, old volume that, by its name, seemed to speak about the principles of chimaeras. It was nothing more than theory, and Edward realized that he no doubt knew more about chimaeras than that written in the heavy book. Nonetheless, he pulled it from its perch and, after having found a comfortable couch at the back of the building to sit at, began to read.

He did not know how much time he has spent, holed up in his own little world as he quickly read page after page, for the book was more interesting than he had anticipated, hypothesizing about possible differences between chimaeras and humans, and the advantages and disadvantages that each party could have. Halfway through a chapter about the supposition of chimaeras and their abilities to use alchemy, however, a strong hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, annoying him greatly in the process – who knew when he would be able to find this book again!

But it was none other than First Lieutenant Hawkeye, her brown eyes dark and grave, warning him not to be as stubborn as rumours always insisted he was. There was no greeting from her to him, only direct words, not quite an order – for he was, after all, her superior – but most definitely more than a mere suggestion. "The Generals want to speak with you," she informed him softly. "They're speaking with each officer so that they can be briefed before being deployed."

For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Was this it? "So –"

The question must have shown in his eyes, for she simply nodded before beginning to lead him out of the quaint, quiet structure. In his haste to follow, he forgot to return the book to its place. "They're planning to have the first of the troops in position by the end of the week, and the rest in the next two, apparently."

"'Apparently?'"

For the first time, something akin to dry humour found its way onto the blonde woman's face. Glancing over her shoulder at him, he caught a glimpse of a wry smile. "You'll learn soon enough how quickly rumours and news is spread among soldiers, especially soldiers who do little more than spend their time fighting, talking and drinking."

He blinked, not knowing how to reply to such a bold statement. It seemed, though, that she did not expect an answer anyway, for she simply kept going without breaking stride, through the winding cobblestone streets filled with bakeries and flower shops, grocery stalls and apartment buildings. It was a bit sad, he realized suddenly, the day was pleasantly warm and people seemed so happy, but, in the middle of all of this, two feuding countries were preparing to attack each other yet again.

There was a quick word to one of the guards at the military headquarter's main gate – a tall, wrought iron monstrosity and one of three ways on and off of the private, well manicured grounds – and they were heading forward once more. Their thick, black, army issued boots clattered heavily on the beaten pavement as they moved towards the building, making sure to stay out of the way of the hoards of men working to move heavy machinery or direct equipment convoys. It seemed that the Lieutenant's rumour was correct, for, if Edward had thought that it was busy before, the previous activity level was nothing compared to what it was now; something else was indeed beginning to take place.

The white stone burnt brightly into Edward's eye for a moment, then he and Hawkeye entered the cool entrance foyer, which was just as full with hurrying, bustling soldiers as the grounds surrounding the place. It was an art to find their way through the maze of moving bodies, but they somehow managed the task and skirted their way up the main staircase, a wide, sweeping thing of carved oak. Thankfully, the upper stories of the building were quieter and much less crowded.

Silently, he followed the woman through a network of hallways and corridors, each as decorated as plainly and practically as the previous. He counted on her to know where they were going, because he certainly had no clue; most of his time here had been spent as far away from this hellish mess as possible.

Suddenly, she stood before a pair of heavy oak doors, somewhere on the third floor. Once more, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Are you ready?"

He shot a smirk in her direction, filled with a confidence he most certainly did not feel. "Why wouldn't I be?"

A moment's pause, then she pushed one leaf open and motioned him through, following behind him and closing it once more behind them.

For some strange reason, Edward could not help but imagine that the briefing room used by all the region's military generals to be some darkened cave-like hall, with tall windows being blotted by dark, heavy curtains, imposing figures looming about him, and huge maps decorating every possible available space. Looking around the brightly lit room, he could not help but feel a little disappointed by the lack of imagination put into designing the room. Though there were indeed maps covering the walls and conference table at the room's centre, they were of all sizes and adorned with pins of varying colours, clustered around seemingly random areas. The room itself was relatively small, and only appeared even more so by the presence of twenty or so other officers. The rare patches of bare wall were the same, plain white as the corridors that lead them there.

Seated at the head of the conference table sat General Hakuro, a middle aged, grey haired man that Edward recalled as being one of the former commanders of Amestris' east area. At his left was a young woman with long, curled, dark hair that he thought looked vaguely familiar; she spotted the same blue jacket worn by everyone else in the room, though her shoulders were covered by the golden stars and stripes of a second lieutenant. On Hakuro's right, stood Mustang, looking just as pompous and unaffected as he always did.

It was not long before the last few straggling officers hurried into the increasingly crowded room. Finally, the heavy double doors were locked shut and Hakuro spoke up, his voice carrying and echoing in the small space, while they all stood around him and the map covered table; with the number of officers there, there was not nearly enough room to sit. "As you all know by now, the Aerugans have been gathering forces along our borders for more than two weeks now; Intelligence teams report that there are more than fifty thousand men in position as of three days ago, and just as many being deployed to bolster the troops already there. Accounts from our reconnaissance teams testify that nearly thirty thousand are being prepared on Amestris' western region, or are already ready to attack."

He stood, and motioned to a point on the table's main map, a huge thing showing the western province over a nearly three meter space, covering the table's entire face. Near his hand, a small cluster of red and blue pins dimpled the maps front. "All of you, under the command of Brigadier General Mustang (Edward swore that he saw Mustang's smirk deepen when the elder man said this), will patrol and defend this area, south of the city of Loretto. This outpost will act as a passage for many of the troops heading far west, so it is a vital part of our defences.

"You and the men who follow you are the ones this military has trusted with such an important role, so live up to your names and duties, men, and honour this decision!"

There was a moment of silence, which Edward could not help but think was somewhat over dramatic, then Mustang stood a bit straighter and began to speak. "Alright soldiers; I've worked with some of you before and, some of you I haven't; some of you have as much battle experience as any other veteran and others among you have little or none. This is no longer of any importance to me, nor should it be to any of you. We work as a team from here on out, and this is how things are going to work…"

The blond alchemist suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his commanding officer droned on, his voice charismatic and quite possibly alluring to anyone who did not know him, explaining defensive plans and geographical aspects of their new territory, all the while boosting up morale and encouraging the officers before him with sickening ease.

This was going to be a _long_ war…

XXX

Proof of Randon Research - Thanks to Google

1) Borch, _De ortu et progressu Chemiae - _This was actually written in 1668, and was actually done so by Ole Borch, a Danish scientist, physician, grammarian and poet. He is also thought to have been an alchemist.

2) Guiseppe Balsamo/Alessandro Cagliostro (1743-1795) - Famous alchemist and magician. Yes, this was the same person.

3) Johan August Strindburg (1849-1912) - A Swedish play write and writer. Was also a telegrapher, painter, photographer and alchemist. He claims to have cast black magic spells on his daughter (nice dad).

4) Colsterworth - Or, rather, Woolsthorpe-by-Colsterworth, in the county of Lincolnshire, England. Isaac Newton's birth place because he was, after all, an alchemist, too.

Also, randomly, the word _sinistre _is Latin, meaning left-handed. Ironically, it is also the English root word for "sinister".

xCxBxBx


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish they do… But they don't. It's almost enough to make one cry at night.**

XXX

**Loyal Dogs**

Chapter Three – Home

XXX

_Dear Al,_

_You were right – the weather here is crap. It's freezing cold at night and only slightly cooler than Hell during the day. And, if that's not enough, it's dry enough to crack your lips and give you nosebleeds, too. The only one who doesn't complain about this is the Colonel (who, by the way, got promoted to Brigadier General when they gave him command of this place – you can imagine how happy he is about _that_) and, while people say it's because he doesn't want to seem unbecoming by being the commanding officer and complaining about this place, I think it's just because it doesn't rain here, so no one can call him useless._

_I think that I'm going to go and ask him what he would have done if he had been sent north, instead._

_He just told me to shut up, stop being a smart ass and finish my letter._

_Things here are really boring, actually. We go out on patrols, make daily reports to the Headquarters, do a lot of defence and weapons inspections, and what we do between those chores is really up to us. The East is reportedly having a few minor problems with two- and three-tiered attacks, which does against what Mustang said about the defensive country always being ready for battle first._

_I play cards with Havoc and Breda and the enlisted men a lot, even though they usually gamble for cigarettes. I've found out that I can win a bunch of them in a game of cards, and then sell them the next morning, so it turns out that cigarettes actually are good for you. There are a few people I spar with in the mornings, too. They're not great, but they're okay, and they at least keep me from getting too out of practice. _

_Mustang's been trying to have me to live up to my rank and is getting me to do a lot of officer duties. He says that it's important that I know how to lead troops and all that, but it's more like he's doing it because he's a lazy bastard who doesn't want to do the work. If nothing else, who would take orders from a kid? Sure, I have the rank of Major, but it's just a formality; people obey Havoc and Breda and Hawkeye long before they obey me. _

_Not that it bothers me, anyway._

_Speaking of Hawkeye, she asked me to thank Winry and Granny again for her, for watching after Black Hayate while this mess is going on. Pass on the message for me? And how's the little scrapper doing? Not annoying Den too much, is he? _

_Your brother,_

_The wonderful Fullmetal Alchemist_

_MAJOR EDWARD ELRIC_

_PS. They said that the Rezembool__ area got hit with a late snow storm. Is that true?_

--- Major E. Elric to civilian A. Elric. April 12, 1916.

XXX

During times of war, it was customary for the nation of Amestris to take control of major train lines in the provinces and regions closest to the offending border. This is done, obviously, in order to streamline the speed in which military troops can be sent to the war zone in order to protect the nation's citizens. As a result, the train side from South City Headquarters to the town of Loretto – the last station on the line, where they disembarked and loaded their provisions in some eight beige coloured transport trucks, which another seventeen waiting for the men – took only two and a half days, instead of the nearly four that Edward had anticipated.

The train ride to Loretto was, for the officers, at least, far more eventful that that to South City, with the majority of their trip spent in the front first-class train car, reviewing details about their new command area. Unoriginally named the Main South Western Passage Hub, their command was one of six semi-permanent outposts that the military would have constructed as a part of the country's defence plan, and one of the six main defencive outposts in the western region of Amestris' southern province; it was also one of three commands that would serve as a partial wayhouse for soldiers being transported to their various destinations. While they had originally been sent to construct the camp with some five hundred other soldiers, the number of those who would call the passage hub 'home' for what would likely be the next year or two, was to be an impressive five thousand, with the command itself being able to temporarily house another seven thousand soldiers. Knowing that the country's capital city Central was home to some fifty thousand citizens, and coming from a village where, at the peak of its growth before being attacked during the Ishvallan Massacre, numbered to be nine hundred, Edward had a hard time hiding his amazement at these figures.

Their jurisdiction was surprisingly large, though it shouldn't have been when they numbers were taken into consideration, covering nearly twenty thousand square kilometres of land and granting them direct authority over nine other outposts. The closest was a tiny thing, thirty kilometers away from their own set up; what could only be a temporary thing some thirty kilometres to the south west of their destination, serving as little more than a communications outpost, or else a plug in a sizable gap between them and their next command, and called (unsurprisingly) the Minor Southern Outpost.

Tasks, plans and strategies were detailed and clarified, though would not be finalized until the camp – the small city – had been made. Those with specialties were delegated certain tasks to be performed once they arrived at their destinations. Officers with companies under their command were delegated other responsibilities to speed up the process of the Command's construction.

All in all, while fascinating, the overwhelming amount of information was mind-boggling and, in spite of himself, Edward found his attention slipping. It was in the early evening when the officers were finally released, and he quickly slipped outside, to watch the land slip past on the train's small deck. Trees were few and far between here, and the grass was dry and scraggly; a surprisingly cold wind blew, biting at his face and numbing his flesh hand.

It was here where Lieutenant Hawkeye found him, watching the scenery pass by. With a sideways glance at her, he spoke. "Are the meetings always so… _long_?"

"Yes," she answered, perhaps too quickly. Hiding a slight smile when he muttered a curse under his breath. "You'll get used to it, Edward. You're an officer, after all, so you don't have a choice in the matter."

She absently rested her hand on his right shoulder for a minute, then turned and disappeared back inside the train car. It really was getting cold out here.

XXX

The sun beat down brightly on the large convoy of beige drab trucks that wormed their way through the barren wasteland that was Amestris' far south. A few brave, stick-like trees somehow managed to survive the day's scorching heat, and dotted the horizon sparsely; grey brush was slightly more common, thorny and rough. More than once, Edward found himself watching balls of the weeds bounce across the land beyond the trucks, pushed by the wind that always seemed to blow, kicking up sand and leaving plumes in their wake.

Scraggly cliffs broke the ground's complete and utter monotony, bleached just as white as the sand around them and almost as white as the few clouds that puffed lazily across the sky. Across all of this, the convoy of more than twenty trucks rolled, kicking up a pale cloud of dust in its wake. In the midst of all of this, with his auto-mail joints smarting from the heat even though it was only midmorning, Edward could not help but wonder why they didn't just _give_ some of this forsaken wasteland to Aerugo and let them deal with it; it's not as if this place had any great value, anyway.

He sighed, scrubbed at the back of his head, and replaced his thick braid with a slightly cooler but just as functional ponytail – which would keep his hair off the back of his neck better. He had ignored Havoc's recommendation that he cut it short before being sent off, and was now starting to regret it; briefly, he wondered if he could find someone who could cut it for him once their outpost was situated and operational.

He pulled his white gloves off of his hands and stuffed them into the pockets of his blue pants, glancing out over the land of pale sand. Word amongst the soldiers – which was, as Hawkeye had implied, almost always eerily accurate – told him that they were nearly at their destination, since they had travelled past the dusty but thriving city of Sol, which was itself half a day south of Loretto, late yesterday afternoon. Still, though, he could see nothing which would mark their destination.

Glancing around the covered truck he was sitting in, which was the standard personnel carrier in the army, he found that, among the thirty people crammed into it, more than half of them were asleep. Havoc was snoring softly, his head bobbing against his chest with the trucks swaying movements; another soldier, a second lieutenant by the name of Caddock, was leaning heavily on the blond man's shoulder, drooling lightly; the only State Alchemist other than himself and Mustang assigned to this post, a man in his mid-twenties who specialized in carbon transmutations, thus earning himself the name "Black Lung Alchemist", was slouched heavily on the wooden bench that acted as seating on this long trip. His arms and legs were crossed, and his eyes closed.

Of all the people he recognized, only Hawkeye and Fuery were still awake, and looked as bored as he felt. He amused himself slightly by watching Fuery's eyes droop occasionally, until his head finally lolled onto Breda's shoulder and he, too, became oblivious to the passing of time.

With a sigh, he leaned back in a most likely futile attempt to make himself more comfortable, then yawned hugely, closing his eyes as the bright sun shone through the back of the canvass covered truck and into his eyes, wishing that time would pass by more quickly and they could finally get to their destination.

And, indeed, time did just that.

The next thing he knew, Havoc was shaking him awake, talking in a gruff voice that revealed that the Second Lieutenant had also just been woken. "C'mon, Chief, we're here. Time to start setting up."

"Already?" He asked, sleep making his mind work slowly. But the sun had moved far to the west and the convoy of vehicles had come to a stop. The place was no more exciting than the rest of the dead, sand strewn expanse, but a shallow, slow moving river did cut through the land, no more than about fifty metres behind them, curving and cutting through the ground, running roughly to the south-west.

Like scurrying insects, men and women, some still sporting their heavy blue uniform jackets but most without, were hurrying to unload the equipment that had been brought along with them, the bare minimum to cater to an outpost of five hundred soldiers. Someone was busy measuring out the large area where walls would soon be erected, to protect their command; eight other soldiers, in pairs, were checking the exact depth of the river to see if they could build it up to use as a defence, while a further group of two were finding the most sound place to build a bridge over the body of water.

Though he knew better, all the action and tasks seemed like nothing more than a standard training exercise that the military would insist upon every year or so; it did not seem like a war. At least, he felt this way until he saw the guard patrols – three squads of ten men each, one with a vehicle sporting a mounted, automatic gun, all heavily armed. Though he had never been to any of the military's exercises, something about seeing such so many patrols, so seriously equipped, made him truly understand that this was far from the quick skirmishes he had been involved in before.

But Havoc was still talking, a distraction that Edward was not aware that he was thankful for. Quickly, he shook himself and fixed the mussed ponytail his head had become, listening while the Second Lieutenant spoke, digging a hand in his pocket in search of his non-existent package of cigarettes. "Mustang wants to talk to you about the parameter walls, by the way; he's over by where they're stocking the munitions supplies."

Following the man's pointing finger, he found the Flame Alchemist's familiar form, flanked by Lieutenant Hawkeye, pen and clipboard in hand, and two other officers that Edward did not recognize. Muttering quietly about "lazy bastard colonels who can't be bothered to get their hands dirty and work as hard as everyone else", he made his way over to his commanding officer to receive his revised orders: to take the Black Lung Alchemist's place in structuring the parameter walls.

The day could be counted in sweat, scrapes, sore backs and sunburn, but, slowly, a camp emerged from the dusty ground; the twenty five trucks were unpacked and fifteen of them were made ready to be sent back for more supplies; tents were erected as temporary shelters, for proper buildings would take far more than an afternoon to construct; equipment was stored away; wells were marked to be drilled. Edward's orders from Mustang turned out to be not just to transmute the parameter walls – they last line of defence against possible enemies – but also to form a low wall and gully combination, to serve as a shelter for their soldiers from bullets, should it be needed.

A brief repose and a hasty, cheese and bread lunch allowed him to regain some of the energy he had lost during the large scale transmutations, then he was working once more. As was commanded, soldiers worked hard to lay out an impressive amount of barbed wire over the low wall he had constructed. With all their defences, and with more to come, enemy soldiers would have a difficult time overrunning them, even with the help of a mechanized unit.

Two trucks were parked near the four metre gaps that Edward had left in his wall – one to the north and one to the west – and served as temporary lookout posts, the actual buildings which would have to be constructed later on.

Supper came around, and the working men and women both rested and dined in shifts, so that the constant flurry of activity that marked their arrival never truly dissipated. Twilight had fallen and the moon had nearly risen by the time Edward realized that it was his turn to eat, and downed the bread and hastily made chicken broth like a starving man. He was famished.

Finally, wells were drilled, equipment put away, larger guns stationed in their respective places along the curtain wall, trucks parked, communications tent set up and communications itself established, necessary defences laid out. A half a dozen communications officers – who had spent the day setting up their equipment and relaying status and orders to and from headquarters – were delegated the task of sentries, to be switched with the other six communications officers before the end of the night. The rosters that had been written up on the train ride between South City and Loretto would be posted and put into effect later on; the combination of days of travel and endless labour had fatigued all of the five hundred foot soldiers just as it had their officers.

Too exhausted to contemplate the fact that his assigned tent was shared with Mustang, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery, and too tired to wonder why men of such different ranks were even sharing a tent, Edward stumbled into the temporary canvas shelter, fumbling around in the near pitch dark to find the military issued trunk that was his. As late as it was, for it was long past eleven o'clock, he was the first to reach the tent for the night.

Without bothering to waste the energy it would cost him to ponder this, he sat heavily on his cot and pulled off his heavy boots and shrugged out of his jacket, only to toss it aside – he would put it away tomorrow. With a sigh, he collapsed onto the small cot, carelessly wrapping himself in a heavy wool blanket before curling up without a further thought.

He was already asleep when Mustang and Fuery walked in some five minutes later, snoring lightly and interrupting the two men's discussion about potential problems with the location of the communications post. As a result, he never did find out that it was his commanding officer who picked up his jacket for him and, with a frown, folded it carefully and placed it on top of his trunk. Nor did he ever discover that it was Mustang who threw an extra blanket over him, far more aware than the young blond about the desert's drastic changes in temperature.

XXX

Ugh. Is it okay to admit that I don't really like this chapter? On the bright side, I once again have a working internet.... Yay!

xCxBxBx


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish it does… But doesn't. So upsetting!**

XXX

Loyal Dogs

Chapter Four – Warning Signs

XXX

_Dear Al,_

_Well, we've been ready for the Aerugans for about three weeks now, and the closest I've heard they've gotten to where I've __been stationed is… the Amestris-Aerugo border. There have been some small skirmishes in the East and one far south of Dublith, in the central-southern region, but that's all I've heard about it. _

_The post only comes once a month here, by the way, so there's no reason in sending me so many letters – I'll only end up with ten of the things to read, all at the same time! And there's no way that I'm writing you ten replies, Brother; I'd have to be a lot more bored than I already am for that._

_So, wait for another two weeks and we'll see what happens._

_There's another State Alchemist here other than me and Mustang, who specializes in carbon transmutation and is called the "Black Lung Alchemist", though his real name is O'Connors or something like that. He's from the far West and has a weird accent, but he's a good enough guy, from what I can tell. He's ten years older than me, I think, but he at least doesn't treat me like a kid, like some of the other soldiers do, and he _really_ knows his stuff when it comes to alchemy._

_We actually got into a… Debate, yesterday, about the best ways how to transmute heated metals. Can you believe that he doesn't think it matters whether or not the metal is heated? That he thinks you can just go and transmute it however you want, anyway? Ha! _

_Anyway, Hawkeye heard us and told us both to shut up, or else she'd personally make sure we'd regret it. I'll show him later, though, just how wrong he is._

_I'm still doing most of Mustang's paperwork, because he's still too much of a lazy bastard to do it himself; I'm pretty sure that Hawkeye ends up doing what's left of it. It's actu__ally kind of interesting, to see all the orders before they get announced and all the forms for supplies and everything; you'd be amazed how much we go through, just sitting around here and doing nothing!_

_Speaking of the Bastard (there's no point admonishing me, Al; I'll call him whatever the hell I want and nothing you can say will stop me), promotion seems to be suiting him well. So well, in fact, that, to pass the time when I had nothing to do, I started a list of things that start with "BG" so that I don't have to call him "sir". Actually, after the obvious ones like "Bastard General" and "Brigadier Grandpa", it starts to get a little difficult. _

_Breda saw the list while I was working on it and laughed; when he saluted Mustang at dinner, he said "yes, Brainless Git, sir!" loudly enough for the rest of the officers around to hear. They thought that it was funny, but I don't think Mustang did; he glared at me like he does – being the bastard he is. He doesn't have any proof that I was the one who came up with it, though, so he can't do anything about it. _

_I'm still playing poker with the other soldiers, but I don't think that they like losing so much. It's not my fault that they're so bad! At least, between all the cigarettes they lose and all the money they have to pay to get them back, I'm getting some decent money out of them. There's a little town that's within our jurisdiction, where a few squads from some of the outposts get sent to for about a week at a time, to watch the place and to relax – I can't wait until it's my turn to get there. I'll definitely have enough money to buy some stuff!_

_Your brother,_

_Ed_

- Major E. Elric to civilian A. Elric. May 27, 1916.

XXX

How had he gotten into this mess, he asked himself once more. He could not remember and, in all honesty, he was not completely sure he wanted to; after all, focusing on the fight that awaited him was a lot more important right now.

Panting slightly, trying his best to ignore the sweat slipping down his temples and the small of his back, Edward watched his two enemies wearily. They were both fresh and energized, whereas he had been fighting without rest for the last hour – and it showed in his movements, his laboured breath, his trembling limbs, just how tired he was. Now, though, was not the time to back down; he was a better fighter than them and all three of them knew it. It was just some damned misfortune that led him to battling with both of them at the same time.

Hoping to buy himself some time to catch his breath, he used the weapon he was most famous for – his foul mouth. "Come on, you bastards! Is that the best you've got? I know backwater villagers who fight better than you!" He let out a harsh laugh. "And you call yourselves soldiers? What, were you trained with those worthless Drachman assholes up north? I could finish both of you off with an arm held behind my back –"

With a low growl, the elder of his two adversaries rushed forward, swinging forward with his right fist. Edward deftly slipped out of the way, leaping high and landing a strong kick to the side of the man's head. The soldier fell to the ground and rolled away – and not a moment too soon. His companion came forward a split second later, trying to catch the young alchemist by surprise. A left hook nearly caught Edward on the face, but he somehow managed to bring his right arm up fast enough in order to block the attack. With grim satisfaction, he noticed the way his foe winced as his hand struck hard metal as he backed off.

But no, now that he had an advantage, he was not going to let it go. Edward danced after him, moving forward in a flurry of punches and kicks and strikes, forcing his enemy back – he _would_ win this; he _would_ get away from this in one piece!

As focussed as he was on his one opponent, though, he did not realize that the other's companion was on him until it was too late. A vicious blow landed across his ribs, forcing the air out of his lung and a screaming pain to score through his body. He coughed violently, losing control of his body, trying desperately to refill his lungs, all the while staying away from his two rivals. However, they kept pressing on, not letting up, not giving him the time to recover, not giving him the few precious moments he needed to be able to refill his lungs. It was all he could do, still hacking and choking, to skip away from them, keep one step ahead of them…

Suddenly, an uppercut broke through his weak defence and caught him across the jaw, sending him crashing to the hard packed, sandy ground. There was a victorious 'ha!' from somewhere about him, but his eyes were streaming so badly that he could not see who it was that was laughing. Rolling away from a low kick, he did the only thing he could think of doing; he clapped his hands together and slammed them against the ground, throwing up a hastily transmuted wall between himself and those he was fighting.

Before he managed so much as a deep breath, though, it shattered all around him like expensive porcelain.

Fuck! He rolled and ducked and weaved away from the sudden onslaught of attacks, leapt high and somehow managed to flip over his two enemies, dancing away from them and as finally able to bring his breath under control. He should have known they would play dirty; he should have been prepared for them to use alchemy against him, even though the alchemist among them – the younger of the two – had sworn that he would not…

Fine, then. That meant that he could play dirty, too. With a smirk, he clapped his hands together once more, and pressed them against the ground faster than his two rivals could react. The ground opened up around them burying them up to the neck.

Maybe, next time, they would remember not to cheat.

A laugh bubbled up from around him, and, surprised, he glanced over his shoulders to find a small audience watching the fight. But, of course… People always liked to watch when skirmishes and competitions took place; it was, after all, just another form of amusement around the camp. He, being as caught up as he was in the battle, had simply forgotten that anyone was there.

"Hey! Fullmetal! Are you going to let us out or are you going to leave us here to rot?" It was none other than the Black Lung Alchemist who had demanded this, buried up to the neck in sand, looking just as annoyed as Havoc beside him. His dark hair was nearly white with dust, and his tanned skin was flushed slightly – though from exertion or humiliation, Edward did not know.

He did prefer to think that it was from humiliation, though.

The blond youth glanced over at the two men, pretending to contemplate. "I dunno… We _did_ agree that we wouldn't use alchemy to attack each other…"

"What the hell are you talking about!" Black Lung snapped back at him. "You're the one who used alchemy first!"

"I was using it to defend myself, not attacking, you idiot!" He glared at the furious head sticking out of the ground. For the most part, Black Lung was an interesting person, but, sometimes, he was just a bastard!

"And I was using it to attack your defence, not you, bean sprout!"

There was a moment of silence. Then… "Fine, then! See if I ever let you out! Dig your way out with your teeth for all I care! I –"

A new voice interrupted him in the middle of his rant, and Mustang stepped forward. "Let them out, Fullmetal, and all three of you clean yourselves up. I want to see you in the Headquarters in fifteen minutes."

The blond was tempted to half-heartedly argue this order – he was well aware of the fact that he would eventually have to free the other men, after all – but the carefully neutral expression on Mustang's wind burnt face suggested otherwise. And so, with a fair amount of mutinous grumbling and a number of profane comments, he clapped his hands together again and freed the others, not even sparing them a glance as he quickly gathered his increasingly worn, military blue jacket from where it had previously been tossed on the ground, and cut through the slowly dispersing crowd. He made his way to one of the outpost's two wells (this one being the one normally used by the quartermaster's staff but was, for the moment, free), dumping most of one of the retrieved water buckets over his head and shoulders to rid himself of the worst of the sand, and the rest, clearing his parched throat and filling his stomach. A quick stop by the officers' barracks to change out of his now wet and dusty clothes, and a promise to himself to clean them later, then he was making his way into the South Western Passage Hub's Headquarters.

Even if he had not had the clue of dozens of voices to lead him to the tactical room, he still would have assumed that it was here where Mustang had wanted them to gather. The largest room in the building, it was also the only one with a door, and, being on the second floor, was one of the only places where one could expect any modicum on privacy. Though dubbed the Tactical Room, it was primarily used as conference room in which Mustang's officers could be privy to information that the enlisted men either did not need to know, or were not entitled to, instead of actual meetings. Edward had quickly learned, however, that these gatherings were rarely concerning mundane details.

The room, bare walled like the rest of them and sporting a large, plain table at the centre, around which higher ranking officers had their own rough wooden chairs, was nearly full with bodies and anxious energy when he walked in and slipped into the seat that was his, beside the surprisingly clean Black Lung Alchemist. To his right and at the head of the table, Mustang's own seat was vacant, as was Hawkeye's across from him. Other than them, only a handful of officers, Second Lieutenants Breda, Renault and Caddock, were absent, though Caddock, hair dripping slightly and face wet, appeared just moments after Edward himself sat down.

Wishing that the stifling room's windows could be opened and understanding why they could not, the Fullmetal Alchemist leaned back and listened to the remark around him, his fresh blue jacket remaining unbuttoned and his eyes closed against the bright light streaming through the three windows. Behind him and to the left, standing against a wall and speaking with a few others, a low ranking Communications officer was retelling something he had heard at his station. They spoke just low enough that he caught every other word – enough to keep him from truly understanding what was being said, while allowing descriptions like 'taken completely by surprise' and 'god awful ruin' to slip through, painting a cruor picture in the teen's imaginative mind.

With nothing to be gained from eaves dropping but an increasing feeling of dread, he spun around in his hard wooden seat, slinging an automail arm over its high back so that he could face the four chatterers.

"You know," he drawled, appearing to the entire room as nearly as bored and unconcerned as they were anxious. "We've all probably been called here to discuss just what you're saying, so that Mustang can set all the facts straight before anyone gets crazy ideas."

Looking as chastised as one could after having been admonished by a seventeen year old superior, the four men all quieted themselves with muted glares. Mustang walked into the room not a moment later (nor a moment too soon), with the missing Lieutenants Hawkeye, Breda and Renault following in his wake. The grim expressions that the three officers shared did little to alleviate the tense atmosphere.

Mustang did not even bother seating himself, but instead spoke in a tense, clipped voice while his subordinates did just that. Eyes hard as chipped onyx, he spoke.

"As you are all well aware, the majority of the southernmost outposts and commands in this area have been reporting devastating surprise attacks on several convoys travelling within their jurisdictions. So far, none of the convoys have successfully evaded their attackers, even after defensive measures were put in place. The few survivors we have from these incidents have been unable to fully explain the events concerning the attacks beyond confirming that the enemy in each case was most definitely Aerugan."

There was a flutter of bobbing heads, which the General ignored. He gripped the back of his chair with white knuckles, and his shoulders were tense, but his face was passive as he observed the blue clad officers before them

"As you are also aware of, it was anticipated between commanding officers of all the outposts in our jurisdiction to be only a matter of time before these attacks became more drastic."

The already tense atmosphere grew still darker. Briefly, Edward wondered why more windows were not set into the walls.

"Yesterday evening, a forward operating base to the south-west, the Gardel Outpost, sent a vague report to its supporting operating base. This report gave some details about suspected enemy sightings. They were, however, unable to determine how many of this supposed enemy was in the area, and were unable to make an accurate estimate as to how close the troops were. Under recommendation of Tassili Command, the outpost made preparations to send a recon team out at dawn this morning and set in place a number of defensive measures.

"After having failed to reestablish communications with the outpost even after having been able to contact with all other Amestrian troops – and well after the sand storm had passed - Tassili Command sent out its own recon team earlier this morning. A full investigation still has to be organized, but preliminary reports show that only the Gardel's recon team, which had reportedly left the outpost not long before the attack began, survived."

Some of the junior officers held back poorly concealed gasps and Edward hid fisted hands beneath the heavy wooden conference table. Having seen the rosters for the Gardel Outpost, he knew there that more than two thousand soldiers were stationed there. Depending on the size of the team, no more than thirty soldiers could be confirmed as alive.

But Mustang was speaking again, undoubtedly Relaying information that Edward would need to know. He forced himself to listen to the other alchemist's words.

"Orders are already coming in from Southern Command to evaluate what happened. Orders state that we are either to repair the Gardel Outpost and render it operational again, or, if this can't be done, to find a suitable area in which to build a new forward outpost.

"This being said, a number of you should expect new orders as a result of this incident. A team of soldiers from this command will be sent to investigate and report their findings to the South Western Passage Hub and to Southern Command and, seeing as Tassili Command does not have an alchemist, One of my alchemists will be sent to as and oversee this. You should all expect these new orders by tomorrow morning at the latest." The tension in the Brigadier General's shoulders bled Away, though his knuckles were still white and his face still remained passive. "Are there any questions?"

The heavy silence filled the room.

After that moment's pause, the Flame Alchemist spoke again, a sort of weary fatigue slowly winding into his voice. "Alright then, if that's the case, you are all dismissed. However, I would like the Blacklung and Fullmetal Alchemists to remain with me; I would like to speak to the both of you BRIEFLY."

Edward shared quick glance with the Blacklung Alchemist as the rest of the officers stood and filed out of the room. Neither would admit it, but the weeks spent calming and preparing themselves for something like this proved to be completely fruitless.

So this was how it was going to be.

XXX

Okay, so that took a lot longer than I had originally planned. Obviously. But… Be happy that I am a dedicated as I am; my wrists are extremely buggered up and, as a result, I've decided to grace you guys to a new chapter via voice recognition software. You've gonna love technology!

Cheers!

xCxBxBX

Random Proof of Random Research:

Tassili Command - the Tassili n'Ajjer mountains is a copse of mountains in the deserts of southern Algeria. It's said that ancient Egyptians migrated from here.

Gardel Outpost – Fort Gardel is situated within the Tassili n'Ajjer mountain range, built by the French and named after Lieutenant Gabriel Gardel, who died during the first World War.


	6. Chapter Five

**Disclaimer****: Fullmetal Alchemist/ Hagane no RenkinJutsushi does not belong to me. I wish it did… But doesn't. Seriously, it's very depressing.**

XXX

Loyal Dogs

Chapter Five – Reservations

XXX

_Dear Al,_

_It's good to hear that Den and Black Hayate are getting on well, by the way. I know that Lieutenant Hawkeye was worried that they wouldn't get along well. She keeps telling me that she's going to have to do something to make it up to you guys for watching her dog and she won't listen to me when I just tell her that, to you, the only downfall is that Black Hayate isn't a cat._

_But the first time I said that to her, she did laugh and say that maybe it was a good thing. After all, if he was a cat she said that she doubted that she would get him back._

_I'm still doing a lot of Mustang's paperwork, and he still says that it's to make me a better officer when I need it. I still say that it's because he's a lazy bastard. One of the Lieutenants, some guy named Caddock, saw me in Mustang's office the other day and laughed out loud when he found out that The Great Flame Alchemist had a 'little kid' doing all his paperwork._

_We'll just see if he ever laughs like that again._

_Now that of the construction is done on the command, there is less to do than ever. Seeing as none of the Aerugans have gotten far enough for us to have to deal with them, all we can really do here is make sure that the guns and heavy artillery don't seize up out of disuse. But, it's sort of funny; right when I started getting used to the idea of being bored down here, the Aerugans started stirring things up. It pisses me off like you wouldn't believe, especially since the notice that they had attacked was relayed to me and Blacklung, interrupting the fight we were having. And I was beating him, too._

_Now that that's happened, I guess it goes without saying that things will probably get a lot busier here. Mustang's sending down a crew later today to help one of the commands investigate what happened. Don't worry about me too much, though; I really doubt that he'll send me down. After all, if he does that, his gonna do his paper work for him?_

_Yeah, I'll probably be stuck beneath that bastard's thumb for quite a while._

_You never told me, though, exactly how the Sheep Shearing Festival went this year. And, yes Brother, you know I'm actually talking about the Prize Pie Competitions that goes along with it. Winry said that she was going to enter one of her apple pies this year. Did she win? And did you finally get a chance to try Mr. Doyle's famous cider this year? I figure that, even if you didn't want to, Winry or Granny would have made you._

_Is that why you never told me how it went? You don't remember, do you, Alphonse? And don't lie to me, either. If you got drunk, then I have a right as your older brother to know about it!_

_Your older brother,_

'_The Wonderful Fullmetal Alchemist'_

_Edward Elric_

_PS. I guess I am that bored, to be writing you two letters in two days._

_- __Major E Elric to civilian A Elric, May 28, 1916._

XXX

The blustery morning was starting to warm up when Edward finally stepped out the Tassili Command's Headquarters, though the wind hit him hard, whipping his blond ponytail as though it were a flag and plucking as his blue uniform. Though the sun was warm, the wind was not, and the temperature that it brought sent aching pains through his marred shoulder and knee, worsening his mood and his patience with the wind. The parameter wall, formed alchemically when the command had first been erected, did little to buffer the sharp gusts that blew off of the Tassili hills to the east. It had been this same wind that had jostled and played with the canvas tent that had been lent to him for the duration of his stay, waking him throughout the night. A part of him – a big part – looked forward to returning to the Passage Hub, whose buildings quieted even dust storms.

Scrubbing his bleary eyes with his flesh hand and clutching a number of reports in right metal one, he made his way to the mess tent. There, he knew that he would be able to find both a mug of coffee and a way to blend in to the crowd, and look over Fieseler's statement again. A portion of the investigative team would be deployed later today, to survey the damage done to Gardel Outpost, and he hoped to have some sort of lead to go on by then, to help point them in the right direction as to how, exactly, the place was so efficiently desecrated. This was one of the reasons why he had opted to do one of the interviews himself.

Before having left the Passage Hub, he had assigned Second Lieutenant Caddock to take charge of gathering statements from Tassili's radiomen and sentries, as well as from the Gardel's survivors. He had wanted to speak to and gather information from the surviving senior officer himself, understanding that a more experienced soldier would be able to retell the traumatic experience more precisely than any green private. As it was, it was disappointing to see the young man – no more than twenty two – and to fully understand the Fieseler was a non-commissioned sergeant.

He made his way into the massive canvas mess tent, stumbling through the crowds of blue uniforms to snag a much needed mug of straight black coffee. It was true that the quality was outstandingly poor, bit caffeine was more important than taste at the moment.

Quickly, his golden eyes scanned over hastily written notes, and he forced his sluggish brain into gear. Fieseler's statement held no inconsistencies, nor did it clash with any of the preliminary reports he had already read and memorized. It did not, however, explain some of the curiosities that had been mentioned. Briefly, Edward questioned validity of the information itself. But no, with the exception of those strange remarks, it was sound and specific, as a military report should be.

He looked back down at the notes, his own cramped scrawl spread out before him, and one of the – so far – unexplainable quotes caught his eye. '_The sky to the north-east of us just… lit up. Like lightening or something…_'

As opposed to the man's reasoning behind the flashes, Edward knew that mortar fire was not what could have caused that strange light. The smoke and debris would have block out any distant view of the light created and, even if it somehow had not been hidden, there was no way that a normal explosion could take on the resemblance of lightening. The sergeant had been most adamant about that one detail.

Above that unexplainable light was the loss of the radio signals. While possible that it was caused by the storm mentioned in preliminary report and in Fieseler's statement, he could not understand how a storm to the north of both locations could interfere with their communications. He had never heard of any such problems within the Passage Hub, even with sandstorms brewing, and all of the primary commands used the same type of system. He refused to chalk up these two incidents as coincidence, either.

He did not know how long he had sat there, bullying his tired brain into some level of function. But he slowly came to realize that an annoyingly awake Lieutenant Havoc was sitting across from him.

"How can you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Be all… awake like that." After all, it had been the blond Lieutenant who had, with some effort, convinced him to go to sleep late last night. Or, rather, early that morning.

A chuckle, and he pulled his trademark cigarette from his lips, offering it to the younger man. "It's the nicotine, Chief. Works way better than coffee, you know. Wanna drag?"

"Hell no," Edward snapped in reply, waving both the offering, and the smoke it emitted, away. "Do you have any idea what those things do to you?"

"Sure, I do. They wake me up after a long night."

A pause, then, "fuck you, Havoc."

"Later," the tall second Lieutenant told him with a grin, then had to jump up quickly to rescue the mess of papers as a stream of coffee spray from Edward's mouth. Golden eyes were wide, staring, and his mouth worked a few times, trying to find words. But Havoc was speaking again before he got the chance to do so.

"I found Caddock and started to set him and one of the squads up for gathering statements. Sergeant Maryland has taken five men to go over all the paperwork from communications; they're going to write a summary that you'll get once we head on back from our own tour of the Gardel. Corporal Apache and the other four men from that squad are going to work with the away team, so, all in all, there'll be thirty seven, including us. I figure that two trucks –"

"… What did you just say to me…?" The young blond's eyes were still wide. Obviously, every word that Havoc had just uttered had gone completely unheard.

He sighed and rearranged the cigarette with his teeth. He spoke slowly, as though to a child. "Including you and me, there will be a total of thirty seven soldiers in the away team –"

"I said 'fuck you' and you said 'later'."

"You're making too big of a deal about it, Chief." The casual tone of voice emphasized just that. Then a wicked gleam brightened his eye. "Besides, I'm all about the boobs, and you don't have any. If you ever feel like introducing me to that cute mechanic of yours, though –"

The impossibly loud screech that echoed through the mess hall nearly deafened those seated at the tables surrounding Edward's own.

An hour later, a scowling Lieutenant Havoc made his way out of the mess tent, holding a cloth filled with ice against his bruised jaw, sent by his commanding officer to speak with Lieutenant Caddock. Due to his injury, the young Major had explained, he had no business being on a potential battlefield, not when equally able soldiers were able to do his work for him. The two Lieutenants were to swap duties.

The disgruntled blond Lieutenant did not bother mentioning that Mustang would be less than impressed with the Fullmetal Alchemist's decision; undoubtedly, the young man simply would not care. Instead, he spent a good two hours briefing Caddock about his new duties as the dark haired Lieutenant reciprocated.

"Oh," Caddock added as the two made to separate, stilling him. "Don't forget to get details about the communications problems that were mentioned in the prelim reports. Sergeant Maryland was telling me that things didn't seem to add up on his end with the radios, and wants details if he can get them."

The reply was a grumbled retort that Havoc was more than able to fulfill his task, then the two finally parted; Havoc, to address their home team – the set of soldiers staying at the Tassili Command – and Caddock, to report to their commanding officer.

XXX

The ride into the area that had once fallen under the Gardel Outpost's jurisdiction was not a long one, especially when compared to the nearly five hour trek that they had embarked upon the previous day. Edward's own anxieties and frustrations concerning the strange reports made the time pass by slowly, though, until he could have sworn that either his watch was broken or the explanation of a two hour truck ride was untrue.

He continued to flip through the things, taking notes and reading them over too, the facts tumbling through his mind as he searched for some explanation in the words – or at least a plausible lead that he could use. He frowned at the white sheets in his right hand and scrubbed at the back of his neck with his right. So long as his automail had out of the direct sunlight, the metal was cool against his skin, and he had taken to pressing it against his forehead or neck when he grew uncomfortably warm.

Stretching, he glanced around the crowded flatbed truck. Most of the soldiers around him were either dozing or reading; one had a pen and paper out and was writing – a letter, maybe. To his surprise, though, a single set of blue eyes were watching him through a relaxed façade.

"If you don't mind my saying so, Major," Caddock said. While his tone was light, his words were careful, and Edward understood why; an unfamiliar, _green_ commanding officer was something to be weary of, especially one with his reputation. "But there's an old wives' rumour back where I'm from, out in the western province. They say that, if you frown too much, your face'll stay like that permanently."

He snorted. There were tales like that in Resembool, too. "Have you ever actually seen someone like that?"

"I never said that it was true or anything, Major Kid," Caddock replied with a joker's air, gesticulating lazily and appearing far too innocent.

"Watch who you're calling a kid! I turned seventeen almost four months ago!" The papers crumbled beneath an automail fist, and golden eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Sorry to break it to you, sir, but you're a year younger than my kid sister." The man said, and a full throated laugh hid the poorly concealed chuckles that bubbled up from the few other soldiers whose attention they had caught.

"Yeah, but I really doubt your kid sister could transmute your shoelaces together," Edward growled, glaring at the soldiers as well as at Caddock – for good measure.

Hands went up in surrender. "Point taken, Major. Point taken," he conceded, then the joker's air evaporated and he leaned forward slightly. "I was thinking about something Lieutenant Havoc said to me, sir – something you said to him, about some weird lighting around the Gardel. I hate to point out the obvious, sir, but do you think that we're gonna be going up against alchemists or something?"

"No," Edward responded with a shake of the head and a sigh. "If there were alchemists strong with the Aerugans, we'd know about it by now. Besides, you know how it is just like I do; Aerugo is too closely linked with the Ishvallan people and they don't like the idea of alchemy there. How would they train alchemists that strong?"

"I'm just saying, sir, that it's possible that they still might have a few in their ranks. It'd make sense for them. If you think about the State Alchemist programme, Amestris has a huge advantage in this war, and it'd be reasonable to assume that they're going to try to get rid of it."

Golden eyes scrutinized the Lieutenant for a moment, evaluating. "It would take more than a few mediocre alchemists to completely demolish an Amestrian outpost in the amount of time we're working with here."

"Well, what about some sort of alchemic amplifier? I might not be an alchemist myself, but I know that the things exist. Would something like that give someone enough of a boost to –"

"Using both alchemy and using amplifiers leaves tell tale signs, so it's not something that I'm going to be able to know until we get there."

A moment of silence. Caddock shifted, glancing around the flatbed and then scanning the sandy slopes that surrounded them. The young Major watched curiously as his eyes widened briefly. "If it is just alchemy, it wouldn't be too hard to come up with a counter-measure, right?"

A feigned nonchalant shrug. "Depends. Why?"

"Well… We're here, sir."

Edward blinked his surprise, then spun around in the hard wooden bench. His own eyes widened at the scene before him, crawling into view.

The gentle slopes that characterized the desert landscape vanished all at once, replaced by collapsed trenches where soldiers had once sought refuge, and vicious craters where mortar fire had torn them apart. Shadows cast by the lowering sun threw it all into deep relief, and the deep pits stared at them like black, soulless eyes. While the bodies had been removed, and the desert had cleared away any traces of blood, it had yet to completely erase all signs of a battle. Ruined armoured cars and unusable howitzers, marked and dimpled by gunfire, lay haphazardly around a crumbling parameter wall. All of it was charred from fire and explosives, leaving black stars painted all over their surfaces. The ever blowing wind was suddenly eerily quiet, and the rumbling engines of their two truck convoy, much too loud. It was like driving into a ghost town.

Hell, Edward thought, was his mind caught up to him, that's exactly what it was.

The personnel carriers pulled to a stop just outside of one of the ruined entrance gates. Engines spluttered and died as grim faced, blue uniformed soldiers jumped out and got to work. Most of them began to comb the area in the sections they had already been assigned; one of the radiomen began to work, connect to Tassili command and confirm their arrival; two privates readied heavy weapons and settled down, preparing to keep sharp eyes on their surroundings. There was no indication so far as to why the Aerugans had simply gutted the place instead of occupying it, and the Fullmetal Alchemist had wanted no surprised when he had assigned these to their duties.

He took a steady breath, collecting himself and his thoughts, and followed Caddock out of the sheltered flatbed. Golden eyes scrutinized the area systemically, taking note of the marks and explosions that surrounded him, analyzing them and tossing them through the back of his mind. None of them, he noted as he carefully circled the ruined parameter way, appeared to have been caused by alchemy. Absently, he acknowledged the soldier who appeared at his elbow, informing him that the radioman was having difficulties with their communications system – they could not put word through to Tassili Command. The private received orders for them to keep trying.

The man left, trotting away to relay the command, and Edward frowned, clapping his hands together and pressing them against a boulder that had once been a part of the wall. Blue light flared, and the stone block trembled, some of the sand that formed it breaking loose, but still held. Whoever transmuted this had known what they were doing, and he clapped his hands again, altering the transmutation, and this time the block crumbled to dust. Carbon had been taken from the air, and infused in the structure, making it stronger. It would have taken a lot of power to cause the damage that surrounded him.

But… He looked over the ruined wall, and the sizable chunks of it that lay at his feet. On the other side, he spotted a few blue uniforms, their owners diligently going over some of the partially collapsed buildings. "Hey! Do you guys see any proof of mortar fire landing in there?"

Regardless of the distance, he could still make out one of the soldier's shaking heads. "There was definitely a fight in here, sir, but nothing that should've been able to cause this much damage to the buildings –"

"Excuse me, sir." The private from before was approaching him again. "But we still can't get through to Tassili Command –"

It took all of Edward's self control to keep from rolling his eyes. "Then keep trying."

"That's the thing, sir. The radio signal doesn't seem to be travelling properly; it's falling short of the receiver. We've already tried different frequencies, but, it's not making a difference. It's almost like there's some environmental interference but –" the young man shrugged, glancing up to the clear sky and western horizon, where the sun as almost touching the highest sand dunes "- but, well, we can't figure out what might be causing that environmental interference."

"So, there's no way that we can talk to Tassili Command."

"No, sir."

A sharp sigh. "Well, turn off the radios for now, then, and try again in a half an hour. There's no point in wasting the batteries."

The man saluted and made to leave, but Edward stopped him. "And spread the word to everyone else that I want samples of _everything_ here, marked and labeled where they picked it up. Something's not right here."

"Yes, sir., but I –"

"Major Kid!" Caddock's voice cut across that of the young private's, as the man hurried across the Gardel Outpost's ruined courtyard and towards the wall's gaping hole. Seething, Edward opened his mouth to tell him off, but the Lieutenant's sharp voice stopped him before he could form the words. "Sir, the guards have spotted something south of here, heading our direction. We've got company, sir, and they're not friendlies."

Even as this fact was relayed to him, he could hear the thirty some-odd soldiers scouring the place, shouting out warning, asking instruction for their betters, dashing for the trucks, for the machine guns hidden underneath the wooden benches, demanding confirmation. His stomach jolted, finding refuge somewhere in his throat, and he bit down the first response that came to mind. Snapping out _And what the hell do you want me to do about it?_ would not help them. He was in charge, after all.

"It'll be easier to defend ourselves in the outpost," Caddock suggested, correctly interpreting the brief flash of panic that he failed at hiding.

He nodded, took a breath. Then the Fullmetal Alchemist spoke, throwing a cocky grin on his face for good measure. "Report, Lieutenant."

XXX

… Yes, I think I'm just as excited as you guys that I finally get to start blowing stuff up.

Chapter six is slightly less than half done, but might be a little late in coming up – I got suckered in to doing some last minute commission work on cosplays , and am starting a new job on Monday.

Cheers!

xCxBxBx


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